Jersey Six(15)

“The water in the bottom of the shower. The last time I took a shower, the water wasn’t black.”

“Well, that’s what happens when you’re forced to live in a shithole and bathe out of a sink.”

She nodded. “I shaved. Kept clogging the razor. The guys used to stare at my hairy legs and armpits. They didn’t dare say a word, but I knew they were staring.”

Chris shrugged. “I didn’t mind. The hairy version of you helped keep me warm at night.”

She flipped him the bird, and he chuckled. Jersey shot him a nervous smile as three knocks hit the door.

“Let the circus begin.” Chris shut off the T.V. as Jersey opened the door.

Max’s eyes widened. “Night and day difference.” She smiled. “Let’s go.”

Jersey grabbed her duffel bag.

“Oh …” Max shook her head. “You’ll be back later. You can leave your bag here. Just bring your purse if you want it.”

“I don’t have a purse. I have a bag. And I’m not leaving it behind.”

Max cringed when Jersey lifted the bag onto her shoulder, smudging black marks onto her new white tee. “Alrighty then. I’m out of shits to give today. Let’s go.” Max pivoted, striding down the hall in her black skinny jeans, ankle boots, and white wool coat tied in front. “Maybe we can find you a new bag.”

Jersey didn’t want a new bag, but she kept that to herself.

Fifteen minutes later, the vehicle stopped at the back entrance to a huge building. Security dotted the area. The driver opened Max’s door and then Jersey’s door.

When they climbed out, Max slipped lanyards around their necks. “Keep these on at all times. Follow me.” She wormed them through people scurrying in all directions, all wearing the same type of lanyards around their necks.

“What the hell, Jers …” Chris nudged Jersey as they raced to keep up with Max’s long strides. “We’re at a concert.” He held up the badge around his neck.

Jersey hadn’t stopped to read hers. She had too much to worry about with people bumping into her. The urge to push back gnawed at her, but the concert news explained the music vibrating around them in the cold, hollowed hallways.

“Dalton!” Max whistled and held up her hand.

A dark bearded man with tattooed arms turned around from several yards in front of them. Max sped forward with Jersey and Chris in tow.

“Dalton, this is Chris. Use him where you need him. Message me if there are any issues.”

The guy looked like a monster with graffiti and a beard as he held out his hand to Chris, not seemingly bothered by Chris’s appearance. Jersey wondered if Max spent her hour away from them forewarning everyone.

“Welcome.”

Chris shook his hand, giving Jersey a look she hadn’t seen except when he woke from his night terrors. She shot him a reassuring smile. They were showered, clothed, and fed. And apparently at a concert venue.

Jersey shrugged. “It’s not a circus.”

Dalton’s and Max’s lips turned up in amusement at Jersey’s comment.

“Follow me.” Dalton continued several steps forward and opened a door to his left.

Chris shot Jersey one last nervous glance before following Dalton.

“This way.” Max lead Jersey in the opposite direction. “First concert?” she called over her shoulder.

Jersey gripped her bag tighter, dodging glances from a few people who passed them. “Yeah.”

“Have you been a big fan of Ian’s for a while?”

“Um … I’d say just since he bought me lunch and offered me a job.”

Max stopped without warning, sending Jersey into her back.

“Sorry.” Jersey stepped back, and Max turned.

“Name one Ian Cooper song.”

Jersey curled her lips between her teeth.

Max coughed on her reply. “You … you’ve never listened to his music?”

Jersey shook her head. Maybe she had heard his music. The guys at the gym played a lot of music, but she didn’t know artists, pop culture, current events, or anything that didn’t involve boxing or the means to get a meal.

“Have you even heard of him before today?”

Another headshake.

Max curled her black and gray hair behind her ear. “Ian … Ian … Ian …” She shook her head a half dozen times before turning toward a door. Next to the door was a white sheet of paper with Ian Cooper printed on it.

“How old are you?” Jersey asked.

Max glanced back over her shoulder. “Why?”

Jersey shrugged. “Just curious. Your skin looks young, but your hair looks old.”

On a chuckle, Max’s penciled eyebrows slid up her forehead. “Old hair, huh? Well, thanks for the skin compliment. I’m fifty-one. But I don’t feel a day over thirty.” She winked just before knocking twice and opening the door. “Heads up, gentlemen.”

The doorway opened to a spacious room, double the size of the hotel room, which wasn’t tiny in Jersey’s eyes. It was filled with sofas, chairs, lit vanities, a television, several tables covered with food and beverages, and three men all close to Ian’s age—maybe late twenties/early thirties.

Two men sat on a sofa, playing video games. They gave Jersey and Max a quick “hey” without actually tearing their attention from the battle playing out on the T.V. screen. A blond guy with wavy shoulder-length hair glanced up from the edge of his chair where he sat strumming a few chords on a guitar.